by Dee McInnes
“You told our dispatcher, when you called to report the incident, that you’d been targeted before?”
“Yes, on Wednesday. I was inside a building when someone threw a petrol bomb through the window. There was a similar white van parked nearby.”
“I see, although I’m guessing you didn’t get a close look at that one either. Was your friend, Miss Taylor, with you at the time?”
“No. You’re right.” Viv wished she was sitting at Carmen’s bed side, rather than answering questions. “I went to meet someone, in connection with an ongoing investigation, and I borrowed my friend’s car. I blame myself for getting her involved.”
“So, you’ve an idea who was behind this? Who or what are you investigating?”
“Sergeant McKeown, at Ballylester station, has all the details. We think someone is trying to stall our inquiry.”
“It doesn’t take much to get some people started,” the constable said. “This place is more of a war zone now than it ever was. Drug related crime, robbery, intimidation, all of them on the rise. This place,” he said, waving his arm at the walls of the hospital, “is like a zoo, especially Friday to Sunday.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Viv said.
“We’ll make an appeal for witnesses and information. Put up a sign on the hard shoulder. You never know, someone could have captured dash cam footage.”
“How likely is that?”
“It can happen,” he said, snapping a rubber band around his notebook. “I hope your friend makes a full recovery. If you remember anything else, please contact me at Newtownabbey station.”
Pete insisted on coming out to Antrim Hospital, despite her assertion that there would be nothing he could do. They sat next to each other on hard, metal chairs in the corridor outside the emergency ward.
“This is becoming a habit,” he said. But he wasn’t smiling. “How’s Carmen?”
“Not too bad. Mild concussion. Apparently, she was lucky she hadn’t fully opened the car door. She’s resting now. They think she banged her head on the pillar. She’s being kept in overnight as a precaution,” Viv said.
“Are you okay?”
“A bit of whiplash, a stiff neck. I’ll live,” she said. “The police left twenty minutes ago after they took my statement. It’s seems very unlikely they’ll find out who’s responsible unless someone comes forward with hard evidence.”
“It must have been Karol. It’s too much of a co-incidence. Do you think it was the same van we saw on Wednesday? Tell me again, exactly what happened.”
Viv retraced their movements, from the time they left Carmen’s house.
“And you went straight there after leaving the Lakeside Hospital?” Pete asked.
“Yes.”
“You could have been followed all the way from Ballylester,” he said.
“Possibly. I was so busy thinking about Rhona and everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours that I didn’t pay very much attention to what was behind me.”
“I’ve been doin’ some research. Renault only have one middleweight panel van, the Trafic. It’s been in production for nearly twenty years. There are a lot of variants. Lowry thought Karol’s van was at least four or five years old, so it could be what they call a Phase Three model. It’s got a wide front bumper. Grey thermoplastic. The indicators are in a long strip beneath the headlamps. The models built from two thousand and six onwards had a different configuration. Look here. I downloaded some photos.” He showed her his phone.
“That looks like the one I saw,” she said, pointing to one of the images. “The left indicator was broken, probably when it bumped us off the carriageway.”
“What about the driver?”
“The way that the front window angles made it difficult to see anyone inside the cab. And the sun was out. That was when I noticed the driver was wearing sunglasses, with metal frames. Aviator style. Like the ones Tom Cruise wore in Top Gun, with a straight bar along the top.”
“Rings a bell,” Pete said. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Is Cuds coming back?”
“The police are trying to reach him. Hopefully he’s in Derry and not still halfway up the mountain. I’ll stay here in the meantime.”
“We need to find Karol and persuade him to tell us who’s pulling his strings. My money’s on Rhona Haslett. You said she seemed pissed-off. She could’ve persuaded Jan Kozlowski to use his connections.”
“I agree, it’s a possibility,” Viv said. “Rhona’s attitude this morning was the same as it was outside court on Monday when she confronted McLaughlin. Journalists are inclined to rub people up the wrong way, especially if they have something to hide… although, to be fair, her brother had just died in front of her, even if no-one but Rhona gives a fuck one way or the other. Carmen was lucky. Anything could have happened,” Viv said, remembering the near miss with the silver saloon. “There was a car on the motorway with, I think, one or two occupants that might have seen something, if they come forward.”
“Let me have Karol’s phone number, from the card in the window,” Pete said. “I’m not letting this rest. You said when you rang it last time a woman answered.”
Viv took her mobile out and sent him the contact. “Yes. But please be careful. I’ve already put one friend in hospital. I’d better go in case she wakes up.”
“Right.” Pete stood up and rested his hand on Viv’s shoulder. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
Carmen’s eyes were still closed. A rotund nurse was checking a blinking monitor, attached by a wire to Carmen’s finger. “Don’t worry. Your friend should be fine,” the nurse said. “It’s good for her to rest now. Get yourself a drink, or something to eat. There’s a coffee bar on Level B or a vending machine at the end of the corridor. Give me your phone number and I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
The hospital had free Wifi for patients and visitors. While she waited, Viv checked the courts list but couldn’t find Mitch’s name anywhere. It could be well into next week before his hearing was scheduled. Nothing happened in court over the weekend.
To pass the time, she opened the feature she’d prepared for Friday and began making changes. She thought about what Carmen had said about not trusting anyone. Revenge may well be a dish ‘best served cold’ but all the years of hurt seemed to have taught Mitch nothing. In the course of her work, people told her what they thought she wanted to hear. Sometimes people told deliberate lies and sometimes people had deluded themselves. Grief was a deep hole, a dark void where you could stumble endlessly in search of answers. But was it an excuse to take matters into your own hands?
Viv thought about Gillian Beattie. Gillian’s memory of Rosemary Haslett’s death had seemed raw. The idea of intercepting Gillian outside church was only in jest. They would have to devise a better way of finding out whether she had deliberately tried to make their lives more difficult. Maybe Pete was right, that Gillian saw him on TV and decided on a whim to stir things up? She remembered what Carruthers’ colleague had said about Army intel during the Troubles. Sometimes information was disclosed that was purely designed to muddy the water.
Was it fair for journalists to rake up the past, stir up painful memories? Reopen wounds? Should they heed Lucille Kozlowski’s advice about not poking the fire or stirring up a hornet’s nest? The detective’s connection to Dr Jan Kozlowski still bothered her. Maybe the Kozlowski’s were like Pete, a large family, with a string of distant relatives? Viv rubbed the scar at the corner of her eye. There were too many unanswered questions. Too many people willing to resort to violence. Viv had never forgotten the expression on Geraldine Maguire’s face when Geraldine had tried to spear Viv’s eye with a hot poker.
She woke from a cramped sleeping position on the wing-backed chair at Carmen’s bedside. The nurse with the soft, round face leaned over. “Your friend’s awake,” she said.
Carmen was trying to sit up. “Here, let me help you,” the nurse said, adjusting the pillows. “How are you fee
ling now?”
“Have you been here all night?” Carmen asked, noticing Viv. “You look exhausted.”
“You’re not exactly peachy yourself,” Viv said, running her hand through her hair. It was dark outside the hospital window. The Breitling showed twenty to midnight. “It’s still Saturday. Just about.”
“Christ.” Carmen raised her hand to the dressing covering the side of her head. “I hope you got that prick’s registration number?”
“No, the number plate was too dirty. I’m so sorry. I think this was probably all my fault.”
“What?”
“Someone, connected to the Haslett investigation, might have been following me.”
“Oh. Brilliant.” Carmen lay back against the pillow. “My head hurts.”
“It’s to be expected,” the nurse said. “I can get you some ibuprofen, if you’d like?”
“Nothing stronger? I could murder a gin and tonic.” Carmen gave a weak smile.
“No alcohol. You need to rest for twenty-four hours and avoid any strenuous activity. I think your partner, Mr Cunningham, is on his way. I’ll be back with your pills.”
Viv refused an invitation to stay over at Carmen’s house. “You need to look after yourself,” she told Carmen. “I can get a taxi back.”
“Hopefully I’ll be feeling better by Monday night. Did you bring your shopping?”
“That wasn’t my highest priority. It’s probably still in the back of the car. But don’t worry. The police said your car would be recovered. We can look for it later, assuming you’re well enough.”
“Leave Cuds to me, whenever he gets here,” Carmen said. “I’ll tell him there was a motorway shunt. That’s close enough to the truth. I don’t want him flying off the handle.”
Before her head hit the pillow, Viv sent Carruthers a message asking whether he wanted to retain Alice as a source and whether the agency would continue to cover her expenses. Hopefully, Alice would have the sense to cancel Mitch’s room. Viv couldn’t imagine Alice travelling back to Liverpool on her own, but there was no point trying to contact her until tomorrow. At least Tania seemed ready to talk. With her on board, it could get a lot more interesting.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On Sunday’s, the gym on Adelaide Street was closed. Viv ran a circuit through empty streets, to City Hall and back, questions swirling around inside her head. What really happened on the night Chris McVeigh died? What, if anything, was Tania lying about? Could Mitch have been imagining things, the fertile imagination of an eight year old? Was he deliberately misleading her or kidding himself? He had seemed genuine, but everybody lies.
How had Doctor Haslett’s childhood influenced his psychological make up? Was Rhona Haslett responsible for their father’s death or had it been it an accident? Did Rosemary Haslett die from natural causes? Who was trying to throw them off the scent? The same feelings Viv had after Mitch gunned down Doctor Haslett and later, when she left Pete’s flat, threatened to resurface. She had been forced to take time out from the investigation, but whoever was placing obstacles in her path wouldn’t win.
Viv increased her pace and tried to push the other unanswered questions aside. Who had killed her father? What was she running from? When would it stop hurting?
She hoped Tania would be able to tell her something useful.
Alice only switched her mobile phone on whenever she needed to use it, Viv had concluded. She called Alice room to room. If there was no reply, she would march down to Alice’s room and knock on the door. Carruthers had told Viv that if she could get an interview with Tania, he’d run a feature on the McVeigh’s enduring grief and how it had led to cold-blooded murder. ‘Offer Tania up to a thousand max if you need to,’ Carruthers said in an e mail. ‘After young McVeigh appears in court, that’ll the end of the story as far as we’re concerned. He can’t plead anything other than guilty unless they’re trying to have the charges reduced.’
Viv was about to hang up when Alice answered. “Och, hello dear, I was just thinking about you. I thought I might have heard from you yesterday.”
“I’m sorry, something else got in the way. How are you doing?”
“Not too bad. Tania’s offered me bed and board at her house. She’s not really my first choice, but I can’t stay on here indefinitely.”
“That seems like a good idea. Once Mitch is on remand, there is likely to be a short delay before he’s sentenced. Have you heard anything about the date for his hearing or what he intends to plea?” Viv said.
“He was appointed a duty solicitor. I know that much. They met yesterday but I don’t know whether or not a date has been set, or any of the legal particulars,” Alice said.
“I’d really like to speak to Tania. Our London office said she was looking for me?”
“Och yes, she wanted your number. I could nae find it anywhere on my phone. She’s coming in to pick me up in a couple of hours. I’m checking out, after breakfast.”
“Okay, I’ll give her a ring. Maybe she and I could chat over coffee,” Viv said, looking at her watch. “Could you keep your mobile phone switched on please, so that I’m able to contact you, if necessary. You know, people might be asking whether you had any prior knowledge about what Mitch intended?”
There was a long silence.
“Alice?”
“My Chris would’ve said, to hell with the consequences. Death or glory was his regimental motto, you know. He would have been very proud of his son,” Alice said, her voice full of emotion.
“Be very careful what you say, and who you speak to,” Viv said. “If you knew anything about his plans, that you failed to disclose, you could face charges.”
“Och,” Alice said. “Mum’s the word.”
“That’s right. And off the record? Just for my own consumption.”
“Can I trust you, lassie?”
“I give you my word,” Viv said.
“There were two near-identical walking sticks,” Alice said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The second one had a modern rifle barrel inside. One of Mitch’s friends showed him how to do it. I went out to the shops yesterday, got myself a new stick and ditched the döppelganger.”
When Viv rang the number Carruthers had passed on, Tania answered almost immediately. Viv was more than happy to go along with Tania’s suggestion that they might meet away from the hotel. Viv was tired of the public spaces and Kozlowski’s mole might still be on duty.
“What about the Botanic Gardens, if you know them?” Tania suggested. “There’s a big Victorian glasshouse with a white, painted frame. The Palm House. You can’t miss it if you go in from Botanic Avenue. I’ll be waiting for you outside.”
The trees that lined the avenue were stripped bare. The garden’s rose beds a mass of ugly stalks. Viv had seen a photo of Tania and Chris McVeigh on their wedding day. The woman waiting for her couldn’t have been more different. There was no-one else sitting on any of the slatted benches that lined the footpath. Tania looked like she was still in mourning, bundled inside a long, black overcoat. She wore a dark headscarf that was draped across her chest and folded over her left shoulder. A triangle of light, blonde hair was visible at her forehead. Ghostlike was a word that sprang to mind. Viv found it hard to imagine Tania indulging in a clandestine affair or conspiring to murder.
“Thank you for meeting me. Mitch spoke highly of you,” Tania said in a small voice. Her eyes were cloudy blue, her lips outlined with a very pale, pink lipstick.
“We’re very grateful to you, and your mother-in-law, for agreeing to help people understand what you’ve been going through. Will we stay here, or should we go inside?” Viv said.
“If you don’t mind, could we walk in the garden? The path through the Palm House is narrow, although it’s well worth a look, if you haven’t been before.”
“As long as you’re happy for me to record our chat,” Viv said.
“Okay.” Tania stood up. She was several centimetres shorter than Viv. “The whole circuit
is less than a mile. I used to come here when I was a student,” Tania said. “A long time ago.”
They followed a concrete path that was bordered by a raised bank of plants and shrubs that would be glorious come summer. “Have you heard anything from Mitch? Alice told me he’d seen a duty solicitor,” Viv said.
“We’re waiting to be given a date for the initial hearing. Once he’s on remand, I should be able to visit him.”
“There are a few things we don’t understand,” Viv said. “About what happened back in May, ninety-six. I hope you don’t mind if I go ahead and ask a few questions?”
“I’ll do my best. The problem is that I can’t really remember that time very clearly. I’ve had help, over the intervening years, but some of my memories are shadows. A counsellor once told me they’d been unconsciously suppressed. I can go through crippling periods of anxiety and depression.”
Oh. Brilliant. Just when she thought they were finally going to get somewhere. “I’m sorry to hear that. Mitch said you’ve not been feeling well since the investigation was re-opened.”
“Yes. It’s been a struggle. I never meant for any of this to happen, and now I’ve lost my son, as well as my husband,” Tania said, her voice wavering.
The path led to an open space, surrounded by trees. In the centre was an iron bandstand with a pitched, slate roof. “Let’s sit over there for a minute,” Viv said, pointing to a sheltered bench, near the bandstand’s red, bricked steps.
Tania fished out a wad of tissues and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know I must seem pathetic.” She said after a long pause. “I used to… I used to think about ending my life, but that would have been the last straw for Mitch. For a long time, after he went to live with Alice, I was in a very dark place. Obviously, I got the blame for what happened.” Tania didn’t look up. She picked at the corner of her sleeve with a short, ragged fingernail.
“We’ve tracked down Tom Finnegan,” Viv said. “He told us about what happened on the Sunday morning, when you sent him and Mr Brown out to look for Chris. I understand the whole experience must have been terribly upsetting. Can you remember what happened, between the time your husband went out to meet Doctor Haslett and the following morning?”